Less Than More Than
by inspiredbywho
Summary: To say that Katrina Scott grew up under less than desirable circumstances would be the understatement of the century. Like most people born in Gotham, her tragic childhood haunts her nights while the crime-riddled city plagues her days. It isn't all bad, though. Her party streak may be bad for her health, but it's perfect for meeting a certain drunken playboy billionaire. Bruce/OC
1. Bad Things

**Bad Things**

* * *

It was all his fault.

If he hadn't been frightened by the actors, if he hadn't been such a baby, if he hadn't insisted that they leave, if he hadn't just stood there and watched… A thousand _what ifs_ and _if onlys_ ran through his head in the time it took for the police to take him from the alleyway to the chair he sat in now, but none of them would bring his parents back.

Thomas and Martha Wayne were dead, and it was all Bruce's fault.

"Did you do something bad?"

Bruce looked up from staring down at his father's jacket to see a young blonde girl standing with her hands tucked behind herself, her back leaning against the closed office door as she stared at him with curious eyes. Her question would have been innocent enough if it hadn't sounded suspiciously like his conscience. "What?"

"This is the room where they put the bad people," she clarified with a shrug before repeating her question. "Did you do something bad?"

Instead of answering her question, unable to give her one even if he wanted to, Bruce fidgeted in the chair as he deflected. "You're in this room too. Did _you_ do something bad?"

"I asked you first," she reasoned.

Damn, that was some impeccable logic right there. "I didn't try to," he settled on saying. "Everyone says that I didn't, but I'm not really sure."

Despite the vagueness of the answer, the girl nodded as if it made perfect sense. Bruce looked back at the jacket in his hands, his grip growing impossibly tighter as he relived the incident in his head for the hundredth time that night.

"I'm sorry."

When Bruce looked up again at the girl interrupting his thoughts, he saw that she had moved away from the door to stand at the edge of the desk he sat by. Her hands folded together on top of the dark wood as she propped her chin on the back of them, her eyes that were an unnerving shade of green piercing his. "What do you have to be sorry for?"

The girl pursed her lips, tilting her head so that her cheek rested on her hands. "I'm sorry that something bad happened to you." She must have seen the confused look Bruce gave her, because she motioned next to her eyes before explaining. "When bad things happen to people, they get this sad look on their face. It's a little different on different people, but mostly they all look the same."

Bruce was very quickly growing uncomfortable with how much this stranger was learning about him in such a short time, especially when he felt so vulnerable. Again, he chose to reverse the situation. "You never answered my question," he said. "Did you do something bad?"

The girl shook her head, lowering her eyes from his for the first time since entering the room as she tapped her fingers against the desk. "They don't _only_ put bad people in here. Sometimes they put the people that the bad things happen to in here."

"You thought I was bad."

"I asked if you did a bad thing," she corrected him with a finger pointed directly at him. "I didn't ask if you were a bad person. It's different."

"You still haven't answered my question."

The girl huffed slightly, rolling her eyes at his persistence. "No, I didn't do anything bad."

"Then did something bad happen to you?" Bruce guessed, wondering if she was in a situation similar to his. He hoped not. Nobody deserved to be in a situation similar to his, let alone a girl who looked to be at least two years younger than him with bags under her eyes and thin, frail limbs.

The girl shrugged in response, paying more attention to her fidgeting fingers than Bruce's gaze on her. "Detective Finch said that a bad thing happened when he came to my house. He said that my mom shouldn't have done what she did, and that we had to come here so they could talk to her. I wanted to stay at home, but Detective Finch said that it wasn't safe at my house. He said that I have to stay here until they figure out what to do with my mom."

"What did your mom do?"

"She killed my dad."

Bruce instinctively leaned away from the girl, his back pressing further into the rough material of the office chair. She had said it so casually, as if mentioning that it was another cloudy day in Gotham. He wasn't really sure what to say, so he chose to say what everyone else – including her – had said to him. "I'm sorry."

The girl shook her head, waving her hand dismissively. "Don't be. I'm glad she did it. He wasn't a very good dad."

It wasn't until then that Bruce seemed to notice the colorful blotches dotted about the girl's arms. Most of the bruises were almost completely healed, the yellow blending with her skin tone. He wondered for a moment if there were more hidden beneath her clothes – if her father had hurt her in places he couldn't see.

"Doing a bad thing doesn't make you a bad person," the girl said, repeating her earlier sentiment. "My dad was a bad person, so my mom made sure he couldn't hurt us anymore. Killing is bad, but if you only do bad things to bad people, does that make you bad? Mommy isn't bad…"

Her eyebrows knit together as she mumbled, so quietly that Bruce wasn't sure if she was even talking to him anymore. It wasn't until her lower lip started to tremble that he chose to intervene.

"It's okay," he said a tad louder than he had meant to, repeating what at least a dozen people had said to him that night. The girl startled at his sudden volume, but at least he had sufficiently distracted her. "Don't be scared. You're okay."

The girl's pinched expression remained the same, her lips pouting as she looked up at him through her dark eyelashes. "It isn't okay. A bad thing happened. How is that okay?"

"Everyone keeps saying that things are okay. All night, the first thing people have said to me is that _it's okay_ or _it's going to be okay_. Even though something bad happens, things are still okay."

The longer he spoke the clearer the girl's expression became, her previous worried frown quickly being replaced by a sincere smile. "Well, that's silly. You don't actually believe them, do you?"

"I don't know. Things don't _feel_ okay, but… maybe they should?" What was meant to be a statement came out more like a question, as Bruce himself was still unsure as to why everyone would claim that things were okay when they very clearly were anything but okay.

The girl stared at him blankly for a moment before moving once more, standing now on the opposite end of the desk from him as her fingers traced the nameplate on the front. "You never told me about the bad thing that happened to you."

"You didn't ask."

"I'm asking now."

Bruce sighed, his head thumping against the back of the seat. What an exasperating little girl. He didn't want to talk about what had happened – not again. He had already repeated it so many times to so many people… But she had told him what happened to her. It seemed only fair that he should share his story as well.

"My parents died," he whispered, hoping she wouldn't ask him to elaborate. The words that he had been forced to repeat over and over again stuck in his throat, choking him with tears on the brink of being shed once more.

The girl chewed thoughtfully on the inside of her cheek for a moment, her nose scrunching up as she mulled over his words. "My mom tells me that it's okay to be sad sometimes," she began slowly, carefully considered each word before saying it out loud. "She said that it's okay to be mad, or scared. Things don't always have to be okay, as long as we remember that they'll always be okay later. Does that make sense?"

Bruce wasn't given the chance to answer before the office door opened once more, a man whose badge read _Detective Gordon_ stepping into the room. Bruce recognized him as one of the officers who had picked him up in the alley and brought him back here.

"Katrina," Gordon sighed when he spotted the young girl attempting to hide from view by ducking beneath the desk. "I thought I told you to wait for me in the other room."

"It was loud out there," she argued, pointing out the windows. "All those people came in with their cameras and microphones. I just wanted to find somewhere quiet to wait – honest!"

Gordon's lips pressed into a thin line before releasing another sigh. He turned to Bruce then, his expression falling into one that matched every other person who had seen him that night. "Come on, Katrina," he said to the young girl, holding his hand out for her to take. "Let's get you back before the social worker thinks you've gone missing. I'm sorry if she bothered you, Bruce."

Bruce just shook his head as he watched Katrina latch onto Detective Gordon's hand, allowing him to pull her away from the desk. As Gordon opened the door, she glanced back at Bruce over her shoulder with a small smile and a wave goodbye.

The door closed after Gordon telling Bruce that he would be right back, leaving him alone once more with his thoughts. The jacket in his lap felt as heavy as ever, but for some reason, his heart no longer felt like it had jumped into his throat in an attempt to strangle him. It still hurt, but in a way that was almost bearable.

Katrina. The things she said made sense to him in a way that nobody else was able to explain. They didn't take his pain away, but made it okay for him to feel that pain. She didn't tell him that everything was okay, but made him believe that one day it might be.

After only a short conversation with the girl, Bruce found himself wanting to talk to her again. Detective Gordon hadn't mentioned her last name, and Bruce was sure he had never seen her before. Did she go to his school? Did she live in Gotham Heights? Could he see her again soon?

Unfortunately for him, the answer to all three of those questions was a resounding _no_.

Katrina Scott, a six-year-old resident of the Narrows, most certainly did not attend the same expensive private school Thomas and Martha Wayne had sent Bruce to attend. Her parents weren't doctors or debutantes or owners of enterprises. Her previously-abusive-now-deceased father had unsurprisingly worked for none other than the mob boss Falcone, albeit at a level so low that the big man had undoubtedly never even heard the name Joseph Scott. Her soon-to-be-incarcerated mother was unemployed after being laid off from Arkham Asylum, where she had worked as a desk clerk with a nametag that read Candace Scott.

No, Katrina Scott most certainly did not come from the same world as Bruce Wayne – in fact, she could not have been born under more different circumstances than the Prince of Gotham if she had tried – and the two of them would not meet again anytime soon. That wasn't to say that they would never see each other again, however.

Given enough time, two people who were thrust into the world of orphanhood on the same night, who met by chance in a darkened office to escape the reality that awaited them, who had a mutual friend in the detective that held a soft spot for broken children, and who had a brief conversation that neither would soon forget, were bound to meet again.

* * *

 **I really shouldn't be posting this story since I have two other WIPs, but I just couldn't resist. After re-watching Batman Begins the other day I couldn't get this idea out of my head, and well... Here we are.** **Although I'll touch on the movies in a few chapters, this story is mostly going to be an original storyline. I won't say about what just yet, because that would spoil the fun!**

 **Let me know what you think of Kat so far. She'll obviously become a more fleshed out character as the story progresses, but I'm curious as to your first impressions of her. Her face claim is Amber Heard, as seen in the picture. See you in the next chapter!**


	2. Stick Around

**Stick Around**

* * *

 _Ten Years Later_

* * *

The loud electronic music thumping in the room that Bruce stood in now was starting to give him a headache. The good thing about attending a party in a house this size was that if he simply walked to a different room, the music would change. It was a helpful tip he had learned over the last two years or so, both full of nights he would never remember and nights he wished he could forget.

Mumbling some insincere form of apology, the boy billionaire slipped past the intertwined couple blocking the doorway leading out of the kitchen. That was the most annoying part of these parties – all the couples who had either swallowed too much alcohol or inhaled too much smoke to care that the other hundred people in the house could see them ripping their clothes off.

That wasn't to say that Bruce hadn't been a part of one of those couples before. Of course he had been, he was _Bruce Wayne_. It wasn't _nearly_ as irritating when you were the one having the fun, though.

Bruce was not having fun tonight.

Sure, the bottle in his left hand contained some of the least bitter beer he had tasted in a while and the music wasn't so bad once you got used to it. It was the people that were bothering him. He was sure that they would make for good enough conversation if he bothered to talk to any of them, but the one person he had really wanted to see tonight had never showed.

 _Rachel_. Just thinking her name forced Bruce to finish the last of the alcohol he held before setting the empty bottle on the nearest surface as he searched for a new one.

He wasn't surprised that she had never shown up – not after their argument earlier that day. An argument that had sparked with him inviting here tonight, in fact. She had expressed concern over his frequent alcohol consumption while he had claimed that he knew what he was doing, she said he was going to get kicked out of Princeton before his first day, he said that it was none of her business what he did with his body, one point had led to another…

Bruce took another drink.

The music in the living room was much more mellow, the beat bouncing in slow motion between the walls as it worked its way through the heavy smoke. The majority of the residents had gathered around the snack table set up along the left wall, talking quietly among each other as they satisfied their munchies.

The two large sofas in the room had been pushed into a corner to create a larger area where the remaining guests were standing. While most of them simply huddled into small groups to chit-chat, there were two or three couples clinging to each other with dopey smiles on their faces as they danced off-beat to the song.

The dim light overhead reflected off something golden, inadvertently catching Bruce's eye. In the right most corner of the room stood a disorganized half-circle of people, concealing the reflective surface so that he was only able to catch small flickers of movement between their bodies. The closer he stepped, the clearer the object became… revealing that it wasn't truly an object at all.

Pale hands disappeared into messy golden hair as their owner bounced lazily from foot to foot in rhythm with the music, their fingers tangling in their curls. Their head swayed from side to side, revealing only the occasional glimpse of the girl whose back was turned on Bruce. The dancer's deliberately slow movements had caught more than just his attention, but she didn't seem to be paying attention to any of the onlookers.

Bruce was completely content to simply admire her hypnotizing dance until he caught sight of an eager looking boy approaching her with a beer bottle in each hand. Deciding that he was sick and tired of pouting for the night, Bruce slipped in front of the boy with a casual smirk placed expertly on his lips.

"I'll trade you," he offered with a wink, switching his half-empty bottle and a fifty-dollar bill for the two full bottles in the other boy's hands.

The song was crawling to an end as Bruce turned his back on the confused boy, taking the long three strides to the dancer's side. A few of the others who had been quietly contemplating whether or not they should approach her immediately lost interest when they saw what their competition would be and walked away without fuss, most likely to find a different girl they could ogle at.

In a practiced and perfected manner, Bruce stood with his chest mere inches from the dancer's back as he placed his lips close enough to her ear that she would feel his breath on her neck as he whispered, holding one of the bottles out for her to take. "You're a terrific dancer."

The girl chuckled at his flirting, never faltering in her movements even when there was a moment of silence between the songs changing. "That's sweet of you to say," she replied just as quietly, her fingers brushing against his when they wrapped around the neck of the bottle he offered. "Even if it was just an excuse for you to come talk to me."

Bruce resisted the urge to scoff, choosing instead to step in front of her when she didn't so much as look at him, simply continuing in her enjoyment of the music. To his annoyance, she simply twirled away once more. "Well, if your conversation skills are even half as good as your dancing skills, I'd say any excuse is a good one to talk to you."

When the girl laughed again, Bruce found the sound more irritating than amusing. "Okay, honey," she sighed, finally turning to meet his gaze. "Because I don't like to see players like you trying too hard only to ultimately get angry when they're rejected, I'm going to warn you right now that you're barking up the wrong tree – catch my drift?"

The girl with the golden hair and the chocolate brown eyes gave Bruce a pitying pat on the cheek before lifting the bottle he had handed her, sauntering backwards. "Thanks for the drink, by the way. I'm sure the cute little brunette I've had my eye on will appreciate it."

This was how Bruce was left standing next to the speakers in the corner of the foggy room by himself, a dumbstruck look on his face that swirled confusingly with the flashes of irritation that shot through his chest when she had tapped his cheek and laughed at him. He wasn't angry that he had been rejected – he wasn't even _angry_ at all. He was simply annoyed that he hadn't realized the dancer's lingering looks on the other girls in the room earlier.

" _Yikes._ Was that as embarrassing for you to experience as it was for me to watch?"

Bruce turned at the sound of the voice, spotting a different blonde leaning against the wall next to the door that led onto the back patio. While the dancer had been tall and curvy with hair more akin to the color of the sun, the girl smirking at him now as a half-burned cigarette dangled from between her pinched fingers was short and thin with hair the color of sand. It was her eyes that truly drew his attention, however. They were such an unnatural shade of green - if ever he had to describe the term _forest green_ , it would be her eyes – and he was almost positive he had seen them before.

When the girl raised an eyebrow in his direction and tilted her head in question, Bruce realized that he had been staring and had never answered her. "It would take a lot more than that to embarrass me," he replied in true Bruce Wayne fashion, readjusting the smirk of his face and his stance into one that exuded confidence.

" _Right_ ," she drawled disbelievingly, taking a slow drag of her cigarette as her eyes roamed his body from head-to-toe. She hadn't even pretended to hide the fact that she was checking him out. "What's your name, tiger?"

Bruce couldn't help but scoff, scratching a nonexistent itch on his cheek before shoving his hands into his pockets. "You mean you don't recognize me?"

"I'm, uh… not exactly from around here," the girl answered with a shrug and a lazy half-smile. "Or maybe you're just not as popular as you think you are."

"I seriously doubt that."

"Doubt what? That I'm not from around here, or that you might have a misplaced sense of grandeur?"

Bruce let out an unexpectedly genuine laugh, the smirk on his face falling into a smaller yet realer grin. Instead of answering her question, he asked her one of his own. "What about you? What's your name, _tiger_?"

"No, no, no," the girl tutted, clicking her tongue as she waved her finger in mock disapproval. "That's not fair. I asked you first."

Like a switch had been flipped somewhere in the back of his mind, a memory suddenly sprang forth. A girl much younger than the one that stood before him now, impossibly shorter and with chubbier cheeks. He hadn't thought about the little girl from Gordon's office in so long now, it was almost like seeing a ghost.

"Katrina," he said in answer to his own question, a triumphant smile overtaking his features when the blonde chuckled in response.

"So you do remember me," she sighed, flicking her thumb over the butt of her cigarette causing the ashes to fall carelessly to the floor. "Gotta admit, you had me worried for a second there, Bruce. This conversation was about to get pretty awkward."

"You know who I am." It wasn't a question, exactly, though his inflection would suggest that it was. "Why did you ask what my name was?"

Katrina shrugged, turning her head to look through the window on her right. "I was curious."

"Curious?"

"Like the cat."

Whether he realized that he was slowly drifting closer to Katrina or not, Bruce suddenly found himself standing only a foot or so away from her. "Didn't curiosity kill the cat?"

She merely hummed in the affirmative, nodding her head as she sucked in the last drag of her cigarette before tossing the butt towards a nearby ashtray. She didn't bother making sure that it actually landed _inside_ the tray, merely in that general direction. "It did, indeed. It was satisfaction, however, that brought it back. If we don't satisfy our curiosity, it may just kill us, which is why I never miss a chance to have a question answered should the opportunity present itself."

"I don't think I've ever met anyone else with the same outlook on that saying," Bruce admitted.

"That's because you've never met anyone like me," Katrina replied without missing a beat, her teasing grin as firmly in place as ever when she finally looked back to him and realized that he was much closer than he had been a minute ago.

"Don't you think that's a little conceited?"

"Only if it's conceited for you to think that I've never met anyone like you."

"Touché."

Katrina took a moment to herself to simply observe Bruce before nodding her head towards the back door, slipping her pack of menthols from her back pocket as she slipped away from the wall. "Take a walk with me, Bruce."

Bruce glanced between Katrina and the rest of the party guests in the living room who paid no attention to the two of them whatsoever, already following behind her without really needing to think about it. "Where are we going?"

There was a single light hanging above the back door to illuminate the patio, the only source of light in the otherwise pitch black night outside. The moon and stars were hidden behind a thick layer of clouds that seemed to perpetually shield Gotham. Other than the tiny flame coming from Katrina's lighter as she lit her cigarette, neither of them could see much beyond their own noses. She held the box out to Bruce in offering, shrugging when he just shook his head.

"Don't know yet," she admitted, starting her hike through the lightly wooded area beyond the house's property line. "But I get the sense that you're the adventurous type. Luckily for you, so am I."

"What gives you the idea that I'm adventurous?"

"Two things. My first hint was when you followed me," she answered with a quiet chuckle to herself. "I also happen to pride myself on being able to read people pretty accurately."

Bruce lowered his voice when she did, the both of them keeping quiet as they approached the trees. "Yeah? What am I thinking right now, then?"

"I didn't say that I was a mind reader," she shot back with a small glare, though her grin revealed its mocking nature. "It isn't an exact science. You're pretty easy to read, though. Right now, you're trying to decide whether you think I'm crazy or just a whole lot of fun."

Bruce's steps slowed slightly, leaving him to trail after Katrina. When she noticed that he was no longer by her side, she stopped and turned to look back at him over her shoulder. "So which are you? Crazy or fun?"

Katrina remained silent for a moment, her eyes landing on the cigarette in her hand. The dull orange glow illuminated her fingertips, while the rest of her remained shadowed by the canopy of leaves above the two teenagers. Bruce felt a spark of worry that he had upset her with his question, and almost took it back when she interrupted him with her answer, a smile brighter than ever growing on her lips.

"Maybe I'm both. I guess you'll just have to stick around and find out."

Bruce watched with a perplexed half-smile-half-frown on his face as she continued her trek forwards, leaving him on his own to decide whether he was going to follow or not. He barely knew anything about this girl, other than the few details he remembered her sharing that night in the office and the even fewer details he had learned in the last few minutes of conversation with her.

He knew that her smile was infectious, and her vague questions with even vaguer answers made his head spin. He knew that she had a troubled past much like his own, and yet here she was trying to enjoy herself. He knew that she was curious and wasn't afraid to search for answers. He knew that she considered herself unique, and that she thought he shared that sentiment. He knew that he found her intriguing, that he wanted to know more about her, and that he hoped she thought the same about him.

In the end, it wasn't even a question.

* * *

 **Ta-da, the reunion!** **The entire story won't take place with them as kids, but the next one or two chapters will at least. Let me know what you think - is my portrayal of Young!Bruce accurate? Thoughts on Curious Kat? Are there any characters you'd like to see in upcoming chapters? Let me know in the review section below!**


	3. Eye Of The Beholder

**Eye Of The Beholder**

* * *

The rest of Bruce and Katrina's walk had been fairly quiet, with just enough _how have you been's_ and _what have you been up to's_ sprinkled in to keep an awkward air from invading their hike. Bruce hadn't had the faintest idea of where this girl was leading him until they broke through the tree line.

In front of the two teenagers was a water tower so tall that even if Bruce craned his neck back as far as he could, the very top was still only visible due to the dull yellow lights blinking around its edges. A metal ladder painted white stretched from the thin pathway encircling the tower all the way to the ground in front of them. Upon first inspection it didn't look so bad, but the longer Bruce scrutinized its peeling paint and slightly bent rungs, the more wary he grew of anyone using it as a means to reach the top.

"You coming, tiger?"

Bruce's gaze fell from the top of the tower to see that Katrina had already climbed the first three steps off the ground, her brow arched in question as she eyed him over her shoulder. Surely she wasn't serious. "You're really gonna climb that thing?"

"Oh, c'mon Bruce," Katrina chuckled, dropping her right hand from the rung it held to swing half her body carelessly from the ladder. Her laughter only grew when she saw Bruce flinch towards her in response. "Don't tell me you're _scared_ – the all-adventurous Bruce Wayne, Prince of Gotham – scared of a little climb?"

"I am not _scared._ "

"Then start climbing."

Without another glance to see if he would follow, Katrina turned her back on Bruce and resumed her climb towards the top of the tower. The more sensible part of Bruce's brain was sputtering at her blatant disregard for her own safety and demanded that he turn around right this instant, while the side that craved excitement couldn't help but rejoice in the fact that he may have finally found somebody that he could start having some real fun with. It was of little surprise to himself which side won the mental argument when his own hands wrapped around the ladder to start the long climb.

The air grew noticeably cooler as they neared the top, which was a welcome relief from the stifling heat of a Gotham summer night. Once Katrina had set foot on the grated path, she trailed her fingers over the railing and looked out over the Gotham skyline as Bruce pulled himself up to join her.

"See?" Bruce huffed slightly, sliding the rolled sleeves of his shirts back down to his wrists. "Not scared."

When Katrina offered no reply, Bruce lifted his gaze from his sleeves to her profile. With the moon hidden from view behind a culmination of smog and clouds, the only lighting available in the dead of night were the slowly blinking lights beside their feet. When they were off he saw only her silhouette, but when they did briefly flicker on the illumination cast long shadows on her cheeks that only served to enhance her features.

Bruce hadn't paid much attention to it earlier in the night – whether it be because he had been focused on someone else, or because he was simply surprised to see her again – but looking at Katrina now as she leaned her crossed arms against the railing, her head tilted delicately to the side as she admired the view…

"It really is an ugly sight, isn't it?"

Katrina's words, though harsh, had been said so quietly that Bruce barely recognized the voice as the same one he had heard all throughout the night. He blinked once, twice, and a third time before shaking his head, despite the fact that she wasn't looking at him. "I don't think so."

The corner of her rust colored lips lifted ever so slightly as she brought one hand up to prop her chin on. "I guess it really depends on where you're looking. Although, the city as a whole is rather obnoxious looking in my opinion."

Bruce stuffed his hands inside his pockets as he took a step closer to Katrina's side, allowing his eyes to shift out towards the skyline. "Where are you looking?"

"My home," she answered bluntly, her voice low and rough.

He didn't have to ask her to clarify. It wasn't hard to deduce that a girl like Katrina had most certainly not grown up in the Palisades, or even Downtown. Bruce looked across the bridge that connected the acceptable part of Gotham to its undesirable partner, the Narrows. It was far less well lit, and he could almost imagine that if he listened hard enough, he could practically _hear_ the crime undoubtedly taking place at that very moment.

A scratching sound drew Bruce's attention back to the girl on his left, who was currently attempting to light what would be her third cigarette of the night. Without much forethought, Bruce said to her, "You really shouldn't smoke so much."

Katrina scoffed in response, shaking her head as she struggled with the lighter in her hand. "Yeah, yeah, I know. They're gonna shrivel up my blackened lungs and turn my teeth yellow and make my breath smell bad and give me cancer. I've heard it all before. Have you ever considered, however, that – _light, dammit_ – that maybe, just maybe, I don't care?"

Well… That was that then, he supposed. It took another few strikes, but Katrina was eventually able to get her lighter working just long enough for smoke to begin trailing from the end of the cigarette. He watched with a sense of curiosity as she inhaled deeply before sighing, her eyes closed in what Bruce could only assume was the closest she ever came to looking at peace.

"So, where were you looking?" Katrina asked after her second drag, abandoning her post at the edge of the railing to lean her back against the side of the water tank. When he tilted his head in question, Katrina motioned vaguely towards Gotham. "You said you don't think it's ugly. What do you see out there that's so pretty you would dare disagree with a mad woman at the top of a very tall tower?"

Even though Bruce was confident that she was only joking, he still took a step away from the edge before answering. "There are some good people down there," he argued. "Sure, the exterior is a bit… _gaudy_ , and there's a higher crime rate than most places, but… Well, a few bad apples don't mean the whole tree is rotten."

Katrina narrowed her eyes as she observed Bruce, pursing her lips in thought. "Are we talking about people or agriculture? Because I'm a little lost."

"It made sense," Bruce defended, moving to join her when Katrina slid down the tank to sit with her knees tucked up against her chest. She only shrugged in response before returning her attentions to the cigarette between her loosely pinched fingers and the bright skyline below them. "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder."

"And who do you _behold_?"

"What?"

"C'mon," Katrina goaded, knocking her shoulder against Bruce's with a knowing smirk on her lips. "There's no way you were at that party tonight, looking all down and depressing as you were, because you _didn't_ have a spat with the missus."

"I – I don't _behold_ anyone," he stuttered, waving his hands uselessly in front of his face as he spoke.

"Oh, _pfft._ You mean to tell me that you – _Bruce Wayne_ – are _single_? I don't buy it for a second."

The briefest image of a certain someone appeared in Bruce's mind, but he quickly waved her away. Not quickly enough, however.

"I saw that look!" Katrina all but shouted, shifting so that she rested on her knees in front of Bruce with a wide grin as she laughed. "So? Dish, Wayne! Tell me all about her. What's her name? Is she as posh as you? Is she drop dead gorgeous?"

"All right, all right," Bruce conceded. Katrina clapped her hands together as she settled herself once more against the tank, watching Bruce intently as he sighed. "Her name is Rachel."

"Rachel," Katrina repeated before nodding her head. "Wow. You really love her, don't you?"

That threw Bruce for a loop. Shaking his head, it was his turn to move so that his back no longer touched the water tank and he faced her completely. "You got that just from her _name_?"

Tapping her head with a smug grin, Katrina reminded him, "Psychic. But no. I got that just from the way you said her name. It wasn't 'Rachel', it was _'Rachel'_. Y'know?"

"… No."

Katrina scoffed, rolling her eyes as she muttered something about thick skulls. "Whatever. So, go on. _Rachel._ How'd you meet?"

He told her everything. He talked about the first day he had seen Rachel walk into his home, hiding behind her mother's long legs for only a moment before darting out to greet him with the widest smile he had ever seen. He talked about their misadventures exploring Wayne Manor and the surrounding property. He talked about how she had been there for him through the death of his parents. He talked about keeping in touch with her even when she and her mother didn't live at his house anymore. He talked about growing up with her, and falling more and more in love with her every day for as long as he could remember.

Bruce had no indication for how long he had rambled on other than a few lights in the city turning off and the moon that had previously been overhead dipping lower in the sky. It was difficult not to go on when he was with Katrina, though. For someone who seemed like such an oddball, she had been a surprisingly good listener.

"Wow," she finally breathed when the words tumbling out of his mouth crawled to a stop. "You _really_ love her."

Bruce chuckled softly, his eyes falling to his linked hands in his lap. "Yeah. I really do."

If Bruce had been looking at Katrina rather than his own hands, he might have seen the way her eyes had gone distant as her smile faltered. It had been many, many years since she had felt any sort of affection from anyone. While a small part of her was glad to know that at least Bruce had managed to find a sliver of happiness despite his tragic beginnings, she couldn't help but be envious that he had someone to love, and someone to love him.

Both teenagers were shaken from their individual thoughts at the sound of a honking horn before a beam of light streamed into their faces from the ground below. "Party's over," a gruff voice called from the bottom of the ladder. "Come on down, kids."

While Bruce's expression only thinly concealed his panic, Katrina merely rolled her eyes at the interruption before stabbing out her cigarette and taking a hold of her partner's elbow to lift him as she stood. "I should have known that geezer would have been making the rounds tonight."

Katrina didn't give Bruce the chance to ask how she knew who was waiting for them at the bottom before she had started the descent down the ladder with him following close behind. Having been caught in the act of trespassing had considerably dampened his adventurous spirit, leaving him only with a healthy dose of caution as he slowly climbed downwards. By the time he was halfway, down, he already heard Katrina speaking to the officer.

" – just fine, myself. How are _you_ doing tonight, Officer?"

"Can't complain, Miss Scott. And what poor soul did you rope into your antics tonight?"

"You'll never believe this one, Gordy." Katrina laid a hand on Bruce's shoulder when he finally reached the bottom, spinning him around before wrapping her arm around his back. "Bruce, you remember James Gordon, Gotham's finest sergeant, don't you?"

"Oh, yes, of – of course," Bruce stuttered, sticking his hand out for Gordon to take. All he got in return from the officer was a strange look, causing him to chuckle nervously before lowering his hand back to his side.

Katrina rolled her eyes at Bruce's awkwardness before dropping her arm and moving to stand by Gordon, shielding her mouth with her hand as she stage-whispered, "Jeez, and here I thought he was supposed to be Mr. Smooth."

Gordon, looking thoroughly unamused with on eyebrow raised at the girl, propped his hands on his hips as he spoke to the teenagers. "Well, Mr. Wayne, I would like to say that it's nice to see you again, but I had certainly hoped it would have been under better circumstances."

"Aw, _c'mon_ , Gordy," Katrina scoffed. "You don't have to act all big and bad in front of us. We both know what a big teddy bear you really are, right tiger?"

Bruce shook his head fiercely, unsure of who he should be looking at as he spoke. "No, I don't know that. Not to say that I think you're bad either, Officer Gordon! Of course I think you're nice, at least from what I remember. Katrina and I just… well we were just…"

"I needed a smoke," Katrina cut in, rolling her eyes as she pointed at Bruce. "Goody Two-Shoes over here was just unlucky enough to run into me on my way here. I dragged him along – thought a spoiled rich kid like him could use a little fresh air now and then."

"If by fresh air you mean illegal activities in the middle of the night," Gordon clarified while Katrina shrugged as if to say _same thing_ , "then yes, I see exactly what you were doing. Now, you know if anyone else had caught you two up there – "

" – I wouldn't be so lucky as to see your beautiful face," Katrina cut in with a wink towards Gordon. "I would also be spending the night in jail since my foster parents absolutely abhor my idea of a good time. I know, Jim. I've heard it once; I've heard it a million times."

"I know you've heard it, I'm just not sure you're actually listening, Kat. I can only bail you out of trouble so many times. Your house isn't on my patrol route, which means I have to come up with yet another explanation for why I'm veering off track."

"I don't mean to interrupt," Bruce said, doing just that, "but if it's any help sir, I can take Katrina home tonight, so you don't have to lie to anybody. My car is parked just on the other side of these trees here."

"No," Katrina and Gordon answered at the same time, her voice a bit louder and harsher than the officer's. Bruce watched with confusion as they shared a look he couldn't quite explain before Gordon moved to open the back door of his squad car.

"Yeah, yeah, I know the drill," Katrina sighed when he opened his mouth, not letting him get a word out. She started to walk towards the door, but quickly turned on her heel and walked back to Bruce's side. Without a word she stretched herself onto her toes and pressed a rough kiss to his cheek, patting the other with her hand. "Night, tiger. Give me a call next time you're craving adventure."

Bruce watched with furrowed eyebrows as she pulled the car door open further, lifting one foot inside. "I don't have your number," he blurted, causing her to laugh as she sat in the back and closed the door without giving him a way to reach her.

Gordon had watched the exchange with a strange mixture of wariness and relief, waiting until Katrina was safely inside the squad car to move to Bruce's side and clasp a warm hand on his shoulder. "You're a good kid, Wayne. Katrina is… well, she's Katrina. She hasn't exactly had an easy go of things ever since the incident with her mother."

There was a knock on the window that had both Gordon and Bruce turning to look at Katrina, who tapped her bare wrist to indicate that they should hurry up – as if she had anywhere else better to be. Gordon merely rolled his eyes before turning back to Bruce. Pulling a blank speeding ticket out of his pocket along with a pen, he began to scribble as he spoke.

"I don't want you to feel pressured into doing this, but I would consider it a personal favor to me if you would give her a call sometime," Gordon explained as he handed Bruce the yellow slip of paper with ten digits hastily scrawled under the line titled _VIOLATION._ "I try to keep her out of trouble as much as I can, but there's only so much I can do. What she really needs is a friend. A _good_ friend – not those hoodlums from the Narrows."

Bruce nodded along, though he had tuned out almost immediately after being handed the paper. He wasn't so sure that seeing Katrina again was the best idea. After all, he had only reunited with her for a few hours and already he was on the brink of being in trouble with the law.

"Just think about it," Gordon said lightly, sensing the boy's apprehension. "Like I said, no pressure. Kat's a tough girl. She can take care of herself… most of the time."

With a final pat to Bruce's shoulder, Gordon finally returned to the driver's side of his squad car. Katrina waved enthusiastically from the backseat as they pulled away from the grass and back onto the dirt road that would eventually lead the pair back to Gotham, leaving Bruce on his own in the dead of night with nothing but the blinking lights of the water tower and a number in his hand that could very well change his whole life.

He could not call her. His life would go on as it had. He would go to Princeton, get a degree, hang out with Rachel, stay at home alone when she wasn't available… drink… slowly sink further and further into the depression that had been building for too long to possibly be healthy.

Or, he could call her. Take Gordon's advice, and show her ways to have fun that weren't illegal. He could take her out to lunch, or to a movie. Introduce her to Rachel. Invite her to college parties. Go on adventures. And maybe – just maybe – she could work a miracle on him like she had tonight, and help him forget the darker parts of his life that threatened to consume him if he looked too closely.

Bruce tapped the paper lightly against his palm a few times before folding it neatly in half and placing it in his back pocket, a broad grin on his face as he turned back towards the tree line and began the trek back towards his car. Alfred was going to be furious when he got back, but maybe he would calm down enough by morning to let him use the phone.

* * *

 **Yes, yes, I was gone** _ **forever.**_ **Such is life. But I'm back with a brand new chapter!**

 **So, Katrina and Gordon. Best pals. Cute, right? What did you think of their relationship – as briefly as it was shown? The small developments between Kat and Bruce? A little glimpse into how her mind works? Drop a review down below and let me know!**

 **There will be another time skip between now and the next chapter, though not as drastic as another ten years. If there is anyone or anything in particular you'd like to see Kat and/or Bruce meet or get into, let me know! If I ever use one of your ideas, I will be sure to credit you for it.**


	4. Goodnight

**Goodnight**

* * *

 _Two Years Later_

* * *

 _DECLINED_

It was a simple word, one that caused most people only mild dissatisfaction. For Katrina, however, it meant so much more.

"Oh, _no_ ," she grumbled, desperately smacking the palm of her hand against the card reader before swiping the small piece of plastic again. "C'mon, don't do this to me…"

 _DECLINED_

"Dammit!" Katrina all but yelled, resisting the urge to punch the taunting word on the screen. She tried to run the card three more times after that, earning an amused chuckle from her coworker, to no avail.

"Let me guess," Sarah asked, crossing her arms over her chest as she leaned against the counter beside Katrina. "Rude customer that couldn't stop complaining turns out to have no money to pay for their drinks? Have fun with that one."

Katrina squeezed her eyes shut, the hand holding the card curling into a fist against her forehead. Of course this was how her shift was going to end. She'd already had to deal with two separate men grabbing her ass on two different occasions, as well as being bumped into and dropping an entire tray of drinks that her manager informed her very matter-of-factly that she was going to have to pay for.

After taking a much needed deep breath, Katrina plastered on her best customer service smile and walked back to the table by the simmering fireplace. "Excuse me, ma'am," she greeted the woman who was already glaring at her. "I'm so sorry, but your card has been declined. Do you possibly have another with you, or maybe – "

"That's impossible," the woman cut her off with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I just deposited my bonus the other day, there's no way it was declined. You must have swiped it wrong. Try it again."

The smile wavered slightly, slowly deteriorating into a sarcastic grin as Katrina glanced at the woman's husband. He pointedly ignored her, staring intently at the TV that displayed that day's football game over the fireplace. "I ran it three times, ma'am," she informed the wife. "If you have another card, I'd be happy to run that one for you. We also accept cash."

"I don't want to use another card, I want to use the one I gave you – that's _why_ I gave it to you. Try. It. Again."

"Would you like to watch me run it so you can see for yourself?"

"Yes, actually."

Katrina blinked at the woman's lack of hesitation. She wasn't really supposed to bring customers to the back of the store, and she hadn't really thought that the woman would accept. But if that's what it was going to take to get this lady off her back… "Follow me."

Sarah snickered from the edge of the open kitchen when Katrina passed her with a glare, the argumentative lady trailing uncomfortably closely behind.

It took not one, not two, not even three, but a mind-blowing four swipes of the card – four blinking, red-lettered declarations of _DECLINED_ – for the woman to finally huff and puff her way through her wallet, rolling her eyes and muttering obscenities the entire way through. "I know I had at least 200 dollars in that account yesterday," she insisted as Katrina nodded, pretending to understand and sympathize like her job called for.

Thankfully, the second card worked the first time. Katrina handed the woman the credit card receipt and a green pen with her smile readjusted, waiting impatiently for her to sign it and storm out of the building with her unamused children in tow.

Though it didn't surprise her to see the zero with an ugly slash cut diagonally through it, it was still an annoyance that forced yet another sigh to escape her lips as she dropped her forehead against the wall. A high-pitched tinkling reminded her of the tight Santa hat squeezing her head, prompting her to rip it off and drop it on the counter.

"That's not very festive of you."

"Please don't," Katrina sighed in response to Sarah's teasing tone of voice. "I have thirteen minutes left in my shift, and I plan to spend them feeling sorry for myself. Besides, Christmas was yesterday."

"Whatever you say, Kat." Sarah patted her co-workers back affectionately. "In fact, why don't you just head out now? Justin's taking another one of his half-hour smoke breaks, so he won't notice if you leave a few minutes early. I'll even clock out for you so he can't check the logs."

Katrina raised her head just high enough to see Sarah's face and confirm that she was being completely serious. With a groan of relief, the younger of the two employees wrapped her arms around Sarah gratefully. "You're an absolute saint."

"Yes, I know. Now get the hell out of my bar."

She didn't need to be told twice. Snatching her hat from the counter only because she had paid for it herself and her purse from the cabinet beneath it, Katrina hurried out of the bar through the side entrance where she would be able to get into her car without her asshole of a manager catching sight of her from his favorite smoking spot.

It took a few turns of the key and quite a few more mumbled curses to get the old clunker that Katrina had just barely been able to afford to start, but when it finally did the girl broke out into a thankful smile before pulling out of the parking lot and onto the street that would take her where she planned to go. Normally after a shift – especially one as long and harsh as this one had been – she wanted nothing more than to go home and sleep until her next one began. Today she had different plans.

Katrina turned on the radio that was far nicer than the rest of the car, relishing in the freedom driving provided for her. Until seven weeks ago, she had been trapped inside a loveless foster home with no means of escape. That had changed the day she turned eighteen – starting with her purchase of the very 1996 Mazda she currently owned. She had driven the car straight off the lot and to the roach-infested, dimly-lit, crime-riddled apartment she had rented with only a 75 dollar security deposit. From there she had gone to the closest bar and applied for a job, smiling flirtatiously to the scumbag who owned the place to secure her position as a cocktail waitress.

Her life was far from glamorous, but it was her own and she'd be damned if anyone was ever going to tell her how to live it again.

The streets of the Narrows were practically empty thanks to the late hour, but the city was far from asleep. Having grown up in the area, it wasn't difficult for Katrina to ignore the shuffling homeless and occasional cry for help. She simply cranked the music higher and kept her eyes forward, her mind distracted by her destination.

It was a bit of a drive to the Palisades, but Katrina didn't mind making it if it meant Bruce wouldn't have to ever meet her in the Narrows. She doubted the lanky Prince of Gotham could handle such an endeavor, no matter how adventurous he claimed to be. He rarely even left his house unless she convinced him to go out on the town with her.

Over the last two years, Katrina and Bruce had grown considerably closer. Whether that was due to the fact that neither of them had very many other friends or that they had bonded over their mutual orphanhood at such a young age, it didn't truly matter as the end result remained the same. The two friends were thick as thieves, and whether they admitted it or not, depended quite heavily on each other for a sense of companionship.

The clock on Katrina's radio changed silently to 2:36 A.M. when she rolled into the driveway circling Wayne Manor's front lawn. Not wanting to wake Alfred, she made sure to turn her music all the way down before getting any closer to the front door.

The night outside was silent other than the staggered call of crickets hiding in the tall grass surrounding the manor as Katrina exited her car, closing the door gently as to make as little noise as possible. She glanced at the set of stairs leading to the front door for only a moment before walking around them and to the side of the building. This wasn't her first time breaking into Bruce's house, and she was quite certain it wouldn't be the last.

Around the right side of the manor stood a tree with limbs tall and strong enough to support her as she climbed upwards, pausing every few seconds to adjust her footing. The climb wasn't difficult thanks to her experience with the branches.

Once she was sure she was secure, Katrina reached out and tapped her fist against Bruce's bedroom window. He was a light sleeper, so that was usually enough for the lamp beside his bed to flicker on as he pulled the window open for her to climb through. Tonight proved no different, fortunately for her as her long shift at the bar earlier that day had her legs wobbling slightly.

"Kat? What are you doing out there?"

"Move over, Wayne, before I fall to my death out here."

Bruce complied with her command, stepping to the side to allow his friend to climb inside. She was nimble as always, her footing silent and sure. "I don't remember you saying you were gonna stop by," he mentioned as she closed the window behind herself.

"I didn't," she confirmed. "But I didn't have anything better to do tonight, so I just figured, y'know?"

He did know. When Katrina said she had nothing better to do, it meant she hadn't wanted to return home. Her reasons almost always remained a secret to him, but he understood the feeling of wanting – needing – to get away all too well.

So well, in fact, that he had something he needed to talk to her about. "I'm glad you stopped by. I have something I need to tell you."

Katrina turned from inspecting his barely lit bedroom to face him, a grin quickly growing over her features. "Sure. After I give you your present."

"… My what?"

"I know it's a day late," she explained, fiddling with the hem of her dark denim jacket. She was acting uncharacteristically nervous. "But technically there are twelve days of Christmas, so I think it still counts."

Bruce watched as she reached inside her jacket to a hidden pocket, excited at first but a bit confused when she pulled out a small but thick black book. She ran her fingers across the cover and spine a few times and slapped it against her palm a few more before thrusting it towards him.

His eyebrows furrowed as he gripped the book and looked over the title. "For The Working Mother?"

"I know you don't work," she fumbled slightly. "And you aren't a mother, obviously. It's not really… That part doesn't matter. Look at the author's name."

"I don't understand how… Oh."

Written in a cursive silver font at the very bottom of the front cover was a name Bruce had not seen in writing in a very long time: _Martha K. Wayne_.

"I didn't know if you already had a copy or not," Katrina elaborated as Bruce ran his fingers almost reverently over the print. "There a probably a dozen in your library. But this one is special! See, open the front cover. It's inscribed."

 _To Candace –_

 _Your devotion to your dear Katrina is a treasure. I hope you will continue down your path with the knowledge that she will grow up to be proud of you – as I already am, and will continue to be._

 _Much love,_

 _Martha_

"I guess my mom went to a book signing or something," Katrina spoke while Bruce read and re-read the inscription. "It's pretty worn down, so I guess it was important to her. She probably just wanted to know that somebody out there thought she was a good mother, I don't know. I thought it could maybe give you an insight into your mom's mind – how she viewed being your mother. I thumbed through it, but… Well, I don't know. You don't have to read it if you don't want to."

When Katrina finally stopped bumbling over her words, not accustomed to displaying any sort of sentiment, Bruce looked up from the book to meet her gaze. "This is… very thoughtful. Thank you, Katrina."

"Yeah, well. You know me."

Bruce looked aimlessly around his room before realizing that he hadn't thought to return the favor. Embarrassment colored his cheeks as he actively avoided looking at his friend. "I wish I'd know we were giving gifts this year, I would have prepared something for you too, kitty kat."

"Oh, I don't mind getting mine a little late," Katrina assured him, her nervous smile melting into a more familiar, mischievous smirk at his use of the nickname reserved especially for his use. "I guess you'll just have to get me something extra expensive to make it up to me. Maybe a new car – mine barely wants to start anymore and I've only had it a few weeks."

She was joking. Of course she was joking, that was all she ever did. Normally Bruce would play along, but the reminder that he had yet to tell her his secret was weighing too heavily on him. And of course, Katrina was quick to catch on to his off demeanor.

"You're supposed to ask me what model I want, not mope about having to put a dent in your fortune," she prodded, stepping closer to her friend and bumping his shoulder. "C'mon, tiger. It's not fun to tease you when you don't tease back. What's got you in such a mood?"

 _I'm leaving._

He wanted so badly to say it, and yet his lips refused to form the words. When Bruce looked at Katrina's eyes that shimmered playfully as ever, he knew he could never bring himself to hurt her.

In the last two years, the friendship between the two had grown considerably. He managed to keep Katrina out of a lot of trouble. Though there had been a few mishaps over the years, her visits to the city jail had been diminished considerably. He taught her that she didn't have to steal, cheat and lie her way through life. She was by no means a rule follower, but she had at the very least developed a sense of respect for the rules and an understanding for why they were in place. Hell, she even smoked less.

On Katrina's end, besides Rachel and Alfred, she was the only person alive who knew Bruce Wayne for who he truly was and not the character he had developed for the press. She could read him like an open book, but knew when to keep her observations to herself. Though she could sense when something was wrong, she wouldn't push him to talk about it until he was ready. She was the opposite of Rachel, who Bruce knew he loved, but in a completely different way than he loved Katrina. They found a comfort in each other that seemingly no one else could provide.

Just thinking about how their relationship had flourished sent Bruce's heart racing. Other than a squeeze of the hand or a kiss on the cheek, the two had never been very physical with each other. They were similar in personality, however, when it came to their open flirtation. Though it had initially not been reserved only for each other, in only the last few months that had begun to change.

Bruce didn't want to leave Katrina behind, but he knew that the direction he was taking his life in was the right one. Ever since he had confronted Falcone almost two weeks ago, he had known that he was still just an ignorant kid. No different than when his parents had been murdered before his very eyes and he had been helpless to do anything but watch.

He wasn't going to let that happen again. Not in his city. Not while he could do something about it.

Bruce was pulled from his deep thoughts by a small but rough hand on his cheek. His glazed eyes refocused on Katrina who stood before him, eyes narrowed with worry and curiosity. Her hand was cold against his skin, a contrast to the warmth in her voice as she asked him, "What was it you wanted to tell me?"

Once again he parted his lips to speak, to reveal the truth that he would be gone for the unforeseeable future and that she couldn't come with him – though he knew she would if only he asked. But that would be selfish, and the whole point of this adventure was to rid himself of that trait. Of course she couldn't come with him. But maybe, since his adventure had yet to begin, he could be selfish just one last time.

In a movement that seemed agonizingly slow, despite the reality being that it took mere moments, Bruce dipped his head and pressed a firm kiss to the deep wrinkles between his closest comrade's brows. He felt her relax beneath his lips, her fingers tingling with warmth against his cheek when they slid down despite their cool temperature.

"I just wanted to thank you," he mumbled, rationalizing to himself that it wasn't truly a lie. Though it wasn't what he had meant to tell her, it was the truth. "For being such a great friend to me. My best friend, in fact. For being… Just for being you."

The scarlet blush staining Katrina's cheeks betrayed her true feelings even when she nudged his shoulder with his fist before crossing her arms tightly over her chest. "Oh, shut up, Wayne. We've already been way too mushy tonight, I don't want to hear any more of it."

Bruce chuckled somewhat sadly, his downcast smile only faltering further when he saw her fail to suppress a yawn. "You need to sleep. You should go home."

Katrina nodded slowly, pressing the back of her hand against her mouth when she yawned again, making her way towards the window. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. You want me out of your hair. Say no more."

"You are allowed to use my door, you know."

Despite his offer, Katrina propped the window open and swung one leg over the edge before turning back to show off her wicked grin. "What would be the fun in that?"

Bruce simply rolled his eyes at her mischief. "You're ridiculous."

"If you say so. Goodnight, Bruce."

"Goodnight, Katrina."

Bruce watched carefully as she climbed back onto the sturdy branches of the tree outside his window. He set the book she had gifted him on his desk nearby before moving to lean against the windowsill as she began her descent. He watched her climb the entire way down – just to be sure she didn't break any bones – his sad smile falling into a frown with every step further away from him.

* * *

 **Thus ends the chapters following Bruce and Katrina's childhood. I plan to have a few flashbacks in future chapters, but from here we will finally be moving into the timeline of the Nolanverse! I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and will continue to do so in the future (when I actually update this story). Let me know what you thought of their final meeting - for the time being - and what you think the reunion will be like.**

 **See you in the next one!**


End file.
